The Craftlord of Iron
by The Phrenologikal Cat
Summary: [ONESHOT] Was once After Story, now a one shot. Just a little bit of prose I was inspired to write immediately after completing SN:SS1 for the first time. It sort of defines who Pratty is as a Craftlord, in my eyes.


Disclaimer Monkey: Teh Phreno owns nothing!

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Five years ago… 

_The crowd was cheering. This she knew, this she just managed to pick up over the sound of steel clashing against steel. Varil was a difficult opponent, so much stronger then when she had fought him last. They danced, her and he, across the stone platform. Sometimes they would come together, and she could see his stormy eyes in great detail. And then the battle would pull them away again. She wasn't sure what she was doing, how she was moving, there was just the feeling of her pulse booming like a drum in her head, sweat dripping into her eyes, and the dance. She wasn't sure if she looked as wild as she felt; only that at this point in time victory seemed impossible._

_Once again they came together, his spear cutting past her. She thought she may have seen blood, but ignored it, bringing her sword around, a blur cutting through the air towards the handsome blonde. He leapt back just in time, the force of the wind about the pulsing green blade sending him stumbling back in surprise. She barely saw his eyes widen, realising his mistake, before she took advantage of it, leaping in through the opening. She wasn't sure what happened next, only that in a moment Varil was on his knees, defeated, and that the crowd around her was roaring. She wiped sweat from her face, and then turned beaming towards the crowd._

_Her name was called by Master Sakuro. At first, anyway, for soon enough the crowd had taken up the chanting. Over and over again, she heard her name coming from the mouths of an entire city. Varil climbed unsteadily to his feet, using his spear for support. She expected him to be upset, but she saw him smile, say something. She only saw his lips move, unable to make out sound over the screams of the viewers and her own heartbeat. She wasn't sure what had happened, it hadn't quite sunken in yet._

_She let her eyes drift across the crowd, feeling a sudden… gladness. She understood then. She understood exactly what had happened then. She had won. She had won the tournament, and was now the Craftlord of Iron, just as Shintetsu, her father, had once been._

**Summon Night: Swordcraft Story**

**The Craftlord of Iron**

"The representatives from the Deigleyan council are here, Master Rondeau. Shall I send them in?" The officer called, trying to hide a smile as the old man cursed.

"You didn't happen to see Iron on her way over as well, did you?" He asked hopelessly. The messenger shook his head, waiting patiently for a reply from his own question. The Craftlord of Diamond looked at the officer with a sad sigh, nodding for him to allow the representatives entrance.

Since the affairs of five years ago, Wystern had attempted to come to peace with Deigleya. Although negotiations had been tedious, things were going well. In fact, this meeting was to be one of the last ones, sorting out the final details before a peace treaty was to be drawn up and signed by leaders of both civilisations. However, the new Craftlord of Iron seemed to have found her new duties to be not worth her time. At times her carefree nature was amusing, but with something as serious as negotiations it was proving to be a great problem.

Four men entered the Central Tower Assembly Hall, where a table had been set up. There were two representatives and two soldiers, causing a noticeable ripple of discomfort through the assembled Craftlords.

"Surely you do not think you need military men standing by at a _peace negotiation_?" Ureksa queried coldly, eying the two soldiers. They stood stiffly, their faces blank as they were put under survey. One of the representatives smiled cattily, answering, "Merely a precaution, merely a precaution."

The other was silently looking over the assembled men and women, pausing in his counting.

"I was under the impression," he said in a voice as cold to match Ureksa's, "that _all_ the Craftlords were going to be present for this meeting. You appear to be missing one, I only count six."

Rondeau looked meaningfully over to Sakuro, mouthing a name and frowning deeply. The younger Craftlord could not suppress a quirk at the corner of his lips, nor a spark of amusement from showing in his eyes. The two representatives looked at this exchange of gestures uneasily, finally asking, "Is there something we are unaware of?"

"No, nothing you need to worry too much about." Rondeau dismissed, "Master Sakuro and I were just… discussing? Yes, discussing the whereabouts of the Craftlord of Iron. It seems she has been caught up in some… official business." His face didn't even twitch in face of the shameless lie.

It was at this quite opportune moment that the door burst open, a figure little more than a girl standing in the new entrance, balancing a bowl of curry in one hand while she fixed up the neck of her coral surcoat. She waved her free hand and a pair of guards quickly pulled the doors of the Hall closed, taking their positions outside. The girl swept past them, placing her bowl down in front of her at the final free seat left, draping herself over the chair without ceremony. Without a word of apology or explanation to those around her, she dug into her meal, receiving startled looks and unpleasant stares.

Leaning back in her seat she gave a satisfied sigh, nodded, and folded her hands in her lap.

"So, shall we finish these peace negotiations?" The girl queried lazily, smiling at the figures in the room. There were mixed responses of shock, anger, exasperation and amusement, though the last was most favoured by the Craftlords. Upon a band around the sleeve of the surcoat as well as printed largely over the back was a single word.

Iron.


End file.
